


Melody of His Heart

by IchiBri



Series: JMMonth2017 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, M/M, Marco lives AU, Mild Gore, canonverse, ch77 doesn't exist, pretty much ignoring everything after Marco saves Jean, where I completely ignore canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 21:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11170860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: During the battle of Trost, Jean found Marco badly injured by a titan.  Before he could find out Marco's fate, Jean was sent outside the walls where he wonders if Marco survived.JeanMarcoMonth2017 - Prompt Heart song/Healing





	Melody of His Heart

They say facing a titan and surviving to tell the tale is a miracle, as if the fear and terror won’t keep you up at night.  But Jean knew better.  He knew what it was like to stare into a titan’s deranged eyes and have his palms sweat and his blood pound so loudly through his veins he could barely hear the screams and shouts of the dying.  A part of him wondered if he’d be better off dead.

He squeezed his eyes shut as his last memory of Marco flooded his vision.  But even without sight, his best friend’s gasping breaths and agonized grimace played vividly within his mind, as if he was reliving finding Marco – seeing him slumped against the house, spotting the blood staining the ground, darting to his side.

So much blood and too little of Marco.  Jean hadn’t thought twice about ripping his shirt to shreds to bandage the open wounds the best he could.  There wasn’t enough fabric to cover both Marco’s upper torso and what remained of his shoulder, but Jean made do.  Marco’s anguished whimpers and groans resounded in Jean’s ears.  Even now, he could hear each hitched breath and gasped cry.

He swallowed down the distasteful lump in his throat and pushed his night’s rations across the makeshift table to Sasha.  Without a word, he stood and left the room.

Guided by torchlight hanging upon the stone walls, he climbed up the old castle tower’s winding stairs.  When he reached the top, he stepped out into the night air – so warm but not comforting in the least.

Marco loved the stars, and Jean wished Marco could be at his side on a night as clear as this.  But he shook the thought from his head.  Not here.  Marco wouldn’t be safe here – outside the walls in a dilapidated castle.  But how safe was he within the walls?  Was he even alive?

Jean’s lips quivered as he sucked in a shaky breath.  The last words he heard Marco say carried on the breeze as it wrapped around him and caressed his cheek with a feathery touch.

_“Jean, calm down!”_

If Marco never uttered those words again, it’d be his fault.  Jean would never forgive himself if his incompetence resulted in Marco’s death.  He still may never forgive himself, knowing Marco risked his life to save Jean’s.

Jean walked to the tower’s edge and leaned against the stone.  The grit dug into his palms as he stared across the horizon.  Under the crevice moon, the dark shadows of trees stretched over open plains.  If he squinted, he thought he could make out Wall Maria in the distance.

He reached his hand into the darkness.  So close, yet Marco was so far away.  By tomorrow evening, Jean would be back within the walls, but it wasn’t soon enough.  How much longer would Jean have to wonder if his best friend survived?

Jean had carried him on his back.  He’d hoisted Marco up, slung Marco’s remaining arm over his shoulder, and hefted Marco’s legs over the blade and gas canisters.  If he hadn’t been so adept with the 3D maneuver gear, Jean might not have made it up the wall with Marco’s dead weight.

He could still feel the puffs of warm air against his nape – far too soft and shallow, but they were enough.  As long as Marco’s breath remained, Jean could hold onto the hope of his survival.  He could naively tell himself that the dampness and moisture seeping into his trousers and making his harness chafe over his shoulders was sweat.  But a tiny, logical voice in the back of his head knew the truth.  When it whispered it into his ear, Jean forcibly shook it from his mind.  He didn’t want the reminder that his friend’s blood stained his clothes and colored his skin.

How Marco remained even semi-conscious, Jean would never know.  Incoherent murmurs gurgled past his lips, and Jean wished he could’ve understood the words.

Jean’s hand fell back to the stone.  His fingers balled into a fist before pounding into the tower.  The sting to his flesh was nothing compared to that of his eyes.

Maybe it was his own desires projecting themselves in the heat of the moment – maybe all the adrenaline coursing through his veins blurred his focus – but Jean swore he heard two whispered words among the bubbles of incoherency.

_“… love… you…”_

He swallowed down a sob as his eyes squeezed shut.  He may never know, may never get the chance to ask.

What if the best they’ve ever had was in the past?  What if Jean would never see a smile soften Marco’s cheeks again?  What if those kind, shining eyes never looked out upon the world with the naïve hope of bettering it?  What if he never heard Marco’s voice raise with a scolding or soften with quiet reassurances?

What if he came back to a shallow grave?  Or worse, a pyre of burnt bones, never knowing which were Marco’s?

His lungs heaved as he strangled the sobs which threatened to cry through the night.  He hunched forward as his hand clutched at his chest, fingers fisting into his shirt.  Knees buckling, he dropped to the ground.

His free hand darted to cover his mouth as he coughed.  Stomach heaving, Jean swallowed down the bile and struggled to breathe through the constriction of his throat.

In through his nose, out through his mouth.  Jean consciously focused on each breath.  Moisture pooled in the corners of his eyes as air flowed easier through him.

He shifted to press his back against the chilling stone, letting the cold shock his system.  Tipping his head back, Jean huffed a stuttering breath before blinking his eyes open.  To every star above, he had only one request.

Please watch over Marco.

 

“You’re uglier than usual today.”

Heavy bags under his red-rimmed eyes, Jean sent a weak glare in Eren’s direction, but he hadn’t the energy to retaliate.

His focus was elsewhere.  Each of his movements was mechanical – pack up gear, saddle horse, mount horse, ride in formation, don’t fall off.  Look out for titans was somewhere on the list, but Jean’s attention dwindled with each stride of his horse.

Every step – the thundering echo of hooves upon earth – brought Jean closer to Marco.  It was all he could do to keep himself from spurring faster, from breaking formation and running his horse past the point of exhaustion.  They passed through Wall Maria and continued inward.

But when Wall Rose loomed overhead, Jean dreaded passing through the gate.  His fingers fidgeted with the reins as his heartbeat escalated.  The blood pounding through his ears drowned out whatever instructions the soldiers were given.  When everyone dispersed with their duties, Jean wandered off on his own.

Mind hazy, Jean didn’t know how he navigated the streets.  He bumped into a few people along the way, muttered a quiet apology, and continued following wherever his feet took him.

He knocked on a door, the sound hollow to his ears.  Without waiting for an answer, Jean pushed it open and crossed its threshold.  A young woman addressed him, but her words didn’t register within his mind.

“Marco Bodt.”

The name tumbled from his lips, but Jean barely recognized his own voice.  Sweat beaded on his neck as his breath stilled in his lungs.  He steeled himself against her words.

But when she smiled and answered with a quiet “follow me”, Jean sucked in a gasped breath.  His vision sharpened as his senses returned to him, and he followed at the woman’s heels.  She stopped beside a door and bowed her head before returning to the front.

Jean hesitantly reached for the knob.  When his fingers closed around it, he blinked his eyes shut.  With a soft breath, he pushed open the door.

When his eyes opened, the evening glare of the sun momentarily blinded him.  He raised a hand to shield against the rays as his gaze narrowed.

“Jean.”

His breath caught in his throat at the raspy voice – tired and subdued, but nonetheless music to his ears, a melody of his heart.  When his eyes swept across the room, his hand fell back to his side at the sight of Marco propped up in bed – bandages covering his torso, shoulder, and half his head.  And yet, as the sun bathed him in its warm glow, Marco smiled.

Jean surged forward.  He dropped to his knees at the bedside, and his hands sought Marco’s.  Cupping Marco’s hand between his own, Jean’s forehead dropped to rest upon them.

The tears fell without warning.  They rolled down Jean’s cheeks and pooled at his chin before dropping to the blanket.

The hand clasped between his squeezed back.  The light pressure of Marco’s fingers upon his knuckles had a sob tearing from his chest.  “Shh,” Marco cooed.  “I’m okay.  We’re okay.  We survived.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @ichibri on tumblr and twitter


End file.
